by Anna Durand
He scrubbed his hands over his face. "You know I'm leaving in a matter of days."
A sigh deflated my shoulders and my spirit. Apparently, I'd never learn. "What's your point?"
"You said… " He burst into motion, pacing between the door and the opposite wall. "Have I given you reason to think I won't go?"
"No." Well yeah, he kind of had. Not in explicit terms, but in his actions and in his Gaelic endearments. How long would I let him go on screwing with my feelings? I grated my teeth, lava-hot fury boiling in my gut. One thing I knew about myself — when cornered, I resorted to anger. "Don't worry, I won't chase you to the airport and throw myself at your feet, begging you to stay. I can find another sex partner at Dance Ardor."
He reeled around, seizing my arms. "Donnae ever go back to that club again!"
I punched his chest. "Let go of me, you — you — Homo heidelbergensis."
His face went blank. "What'd you call me?"
"Homo heidelbergensis." I wrested free of his grasp. "It's an ancient species of prehuman hominid. I was going to call you a Neanderthal, but then I remembered they didn't live in the U.K., but heidelbergensis did."
His closed lips stretched taut, one corner curved up. "A timekeeper, an accountant, and an anthropologist. My, you are a Renaissance woman."
I scowled and stuffed my hands in my jeans pockets. "I read a lot."
"Sorry." He reached out to touch my cheek but pulled his hand away. "I shouldn't have shouted at you. But I can't stand the thought of you going back to that… den of iniquity. Men would take advantage of you."
"Oh, you mean like you've done?"
He grimaced, shoving a hand through his hair. "Is that what you think I'm doing? I told you honestly what I could give you and left the decision in your hands."
Right, it was all my fault. Hell, maybe he was right. I'd leaped into his bed with all the dignity and forethought of a dog pouncing on a fresh bone. I squeezed my eyes shut as a knot cinched tight in my stomach. I'd mutated into a desperate slut. Me. The girl Presley had called goody two shoes because I wouldn't hop into bed with him until five weeks after we started dating. And I'd thought that was fast.
"I've upset you again," Lachlan said, his voice thickened with emotions I didn't care to figure out anymore. "Forgive me, gràidh?"
I grunted, opening my eyes, and went suddenly breathless at the sight of his pleading expression. When he knelt and raised his clasped hands to me, I waved for him to get up. "Fine, I forgive you."
He bowed his head, a breath rushing out of him. "Thank heaven for that."
Rising, he stumbled backward a step, then regained his usual grace as he strode to an antique chair next to the bedside table and draped his immense body onto it. I sank onto the bed. My feet dangled six inches off the wood floor. The bedside table separated us, but I knew more than furniture kept us apart. Lachlan braced his elbow on the chair's arm, his forehead in his palm. His fingers tunneled into his hair, spread wide as if he battled to restrain the thoughts in his head.
I bent my legs to sit cross-legged on the floral bedspread. Hands on my knees, I tapped my fingers in a staccato rhythm and stared at the floorboards. "Are you okay?"
He made a noncommittal noise.
Rocking on my butt, I counted the seconds until I reached a hundred and twenty-four. Tired of waiting, I snatched a brochure about the historic house from the table and read the life story of the lumber magnate who'd built the mansion for his wife. Fascinating. I couldn't remember a word of it after I finished perusing the brochure. I slapped it down on the table.
Lachlan peeked at me around his palm, which still propped up his forehead. "You're fashed, but I don't know why."
"Really." I unzipped my boot and kicked it off. The boot ricocheted off his shin, making him wince. When I kicked off the other boot, he bolted upright with his hands latched onto the chair's arms, but my boot flew wide. It clopped down near the bathroom door. "All I said was I wished we could stay here forever — which is, by the way, a common thing Americans say when we're happy — and you freaked out."
Lachlan crossed his ankles, uncrossed them, linked his hands, fastened them on his thighs. "I did not freak out."
"Right. I imagine there's a masculine Scottish word for it."
"Erica — "
"Chill out." I tore off my socks, lobbing them toward the dresser. One caught on a drawer handle, while the other plopped to the floor. "I am fully aware of the rules, Lachlan."
He heaved his body off the chair and scuffled to me. As he knelt before me, he settled his hand on my thighs and the familiar warmth tingled through me. Sometimes I hated my body for responding so easily to him. He slid his hands up and down, until his palms cupped my knees. "I am sorry, for whatever I've done to upset you this time. I seem to have a knack for it." His hands lay still, his earnest gaze locked on mine, and my traitorous body softened even more. "Gràidh, what can I do to make it up to you?"
"Stop calling me that."
His forehead crinkled.
"I'm not your gràidh. I'm your American fling."
He braced his hands on the bed at either side of my hips, straightening them to raise himself up, his eyes now level with mine. "I know what you are, mo leannan." He raked his mouth up my jawline, from my chin to my ear, his lips parted just enough to moisten my skin with the heat of his body. As he forged a trail down my throat, his feather-light kisses punctuated the words he purred against my flesh. "Sweet. Kind. Strong. Stubborn. Clever."
His lips glanced across the slope of one breast and followed it down. My head fell back as I instinctively arched my back, my body buzzing with an electric hunger radiating out from the apex of my thighs. He slipped his tongue under the edge of my bra, drawing a gasp from me.
"Beautiful," he whispered, nuzzling the valley between my breasts. "Sensual. Soft. Irresistible."
"I — " Everything I'd intended to say, angry words borne of hurt and dashed hopes, disintegrated under the onslaught of his mouth and hands.
"The bonniest of all." He dived one hand inside my jeans to cup my behind. I sucked in a breath, my thighs opening of their own volition. He tilted his head back, those arctic-blue eyes on fire. "Are ye ready for me?"
Be strong. Push him away. He was my weakness and he damn well knew it. Only one other man had tried to placate me with sex and Presley had failed. Lachlan would succeed. Dumb, desperate slut.
With lazy strokes, his fingers inside my jeans plied my flesh. He rubbed his chin over the mound of my breast. "Find out for myself."
He held me close as he eased me down onto the bedspread. He dispatched my clothing while I lay dazed, overdosed on hormones, then shed his own clothes. I stared at his naked body, my mouth watering at all those hard muscles and softer spots, the ones I'd explored with my hands and tasted, over and over, during these weeks. He was glorious. The epitome of masculine beauty. And the things he could do with those powerful muscles and expert hands… not to mention his expert tongue.
Lachlan knelt at my feet, closing his fingers around my ankles in a light hold, barely grazing my skin. When he skimmed his hands up my calves, I shivered from the exquisite bliss of the contact. So gentle, so deliberate, almost reverent in the painstaking care he took to arouse me in the sweetest way. My breathing turned labored, my breasts bouncing from the heavy rise and fall of my chest. My taut, rosy-red nipples bobbed in front of me and caught Lachlan's eye. Instead of giving me his wicked grin, he gazed at my breasts as if they held the mysteries of the universe.
Then his tongue sneaked out to moisten his lips in a leisurely sweep, until his mouth glistened.
I lifted my head, braced on my elbows. "Wha — "
He glided his hands over me knees, up the insides of my thighs. I let out a long, shaky breath, my skin sizzling with excitement. His hands eased my legs apart. I was frozen, my belly quivering, my breasts swollen and so sensitive the faint whisper of my own exhalations sent pleasure zinging down to my core. Lachlan pressed his damp lips t
o my inner thigh, kissed his way up to the apex, and hesitated there. With his fingertips, he lazily stroked the curly hairs on my mound. He planted a wet kiss on my hip, and a ragged moan emerged from my lips.
I stretched a hand down to comb my fingers through his silky hair.
He turned his face into my palm, flicking his tongue out to taste my skin. He moved his head squarely between my thighs, his mouth a literal breath away from my sex. His eyes locked on mine, and they seemed to glow an incandescent blue in the sunlight. I glimpsed something in them, something different, something like… longing. But then he sealed his mouth over my clit, suckling it, and I was helpless to notice anything except his mouth, hot on my slick flesh. His tongue, velvety and questing. He stimulated me little by little, with slow and intensely sensual laps, as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to bring me pleasure.
My throat tightened. I couldn't take my eyes off of him and that old pang in my chest returned, stronger than ever.
Lifting his head, he crawled up my body — hands skating over my skin, caressing every inch of me, licking and nibbling his way over my belly and breasts — until his face hovered over mine. His hands curved around my breasts, his thumbs drawing circles around my nipples. The whole time, his gaze stayed fixed on me, setting off a deep shiver that quivered in my breaths.
I swallowed hard, but the tightness in my throat refused to lessen. "What are you doing?"
"Worshiping you."
Need pulsed through me as his thumbs flicked over my nipples. "Lachlan — "
"Shh." He slanted his mouth over mine with firm pressure, then softened the kiss, rubbing his lips back and forth, running his tongue along the seam of my lips. I parted them for him, and he murmured into my mouth. "Let me show you."
"Show me?" Barely a whisper.
In the instant his tongue thrust into my mouth, he plunged his shaft inside me, lowering his hard body to cover mine. His head was buried in my hair, his lips danced over my skin, his breaths fanned my hair across my cheek and neck with a tickling sensation that had me writhing and moaning into his mouth. His tongue thrust deep, in time with each stroke of his shaft. Strong hands roved my body with a tender need. He took me slow and sweet, like a man who loved me with all his heart, and when he came with one long, powerful thrust, my climax broke through me with a rapture that overflowed my soul. Wave after wave of ecstasy gripped my body as every muscle inside me fastened around him. Even my body couldn't bear to let him go. Tears blurred my vision and slid down my cheeks. My heart ached for what I could never have, for what he'd shown me but refused to give me.
Love.
Panting, still snug inside me, he swept hair away from my face and touched his lips to mine for an all-too-brief moment. The severing of the contact tore at my heart, pulling more tears from my eyes. He kissed away the drops, his fingers stroking my cheeks. "Why are you crying, love?"
More tears rolled down my cheeks. Love. He shouldn't call me that, not when he planned to leave me in a few days. I rubbed away the tears, drew in a deep breath, and cleared my throat. "It's nothing."
Jaw set, he stared at me.
I feigned a laugh, which came out sounding totally phony. "Guess you're such a great lover, I cry from the pure ecstasy of it."
A frown tensed his whole face. "You aren't going to tell me, are you?"
"No."
He rolled off me, flopping onto his back. "You can't keep crying and not tell me why."
"You don't want to know."
"Stop saying that." He jumped off the bed and swept me up into his arms, kicked the covers aside with his foot, and plopped me back onto the mattress. I squeaked as my ass bounced. Lachlan leaped over my body to lie down alongside me. Tugging the covers over us both, he pulled me against him, our chests smashed together, my breasts mounded against him. "I'll be holding you until you tell me the truth."
"Oh darn."
His lips twitched in a near smile. "If we're not talking, then go to sleep, woman."
"Woman?" I tried to kick him, but couldn't get leverage. "I'm not your chattel."
"I know. I have no claim on you."
"Do you want to? Have a claim, I mean." The second I asked the question, I wished I could take it back.
"Go to sleep," he said.
Okay. There was my answer.
I rolled over, turning my back to him to get some space, but he pulled me into him again. We snuggled under the sheets, spooning with his hand over my womb, while the heat of him permeated my entire body. Cocooned in his embrace, I couldn't fight my exhaustion anymore and my lids sank shut. When his body slackened against me, I knew he was falling asleep.
Voice groggy, he mumbled, "Stay with you forever."
I laid my palm over his hand, where it still rested across my womb.
Sleep never came.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the last glimmer of daylight, our convertible rolled down the street toward our adjacent houses. In a matter of minutes, we'd be home — and in a matter of days, Lachlan would fly out of my life forever. I blinked back tears, though their burn lingered. We'd spent two more blissful days at the bed and breakfast. I concluded Lachlan had no memory of the vow he'd made while drifting off to sleep, so I opted not to mention it. I hadn't brought up his freak-out attack again either, instead choosing to savor my time with him. And yet my soul ached every time he kissed me.
Lachlan navigated the car into the driveway of Gil's house. I'd forced myself to begin thinking of it as Gil's house again in a vain effort to prepare my heart for Lachlan's departure. Who was the eejit now?
A few minutes later, we walked across the lawn to the concrete path that connected my driveway to my front steps. Lachlan laced his fingers with mine as we approached the stoop.
We both stopped. His fingers clinched mine.
My front door hung ajar. The interior was dark, silent.
A chill crashed over me, bearing down on my chest like a massive weight. Everything seemed to screech to a halt, and even my heart thumped slower, as if burdened by the pressure in my chest. I could do nothing except stare at the open door. Someone broke in. They could still be inside.
Lachlan let go of my hand. In a crouch, he crept toward the doorway.
I tugged his sleeve. When he glanced back, I mouthed, "9-1-1."
He nodded and mouthed, "You call."
Before I could coerce my muscles to move, to grab him and stop him, he pushed the door inward further and sidled through the opening.
My legs refused to budge, caught in phantom cement. I struggled to swallow, my mouth dry as sand. I dug my nails into my palms, desperate for the clarifying pain. I could not lose it. Lachlan was taking a reckless risk for me and I had to call the police. I ripped open the zipper of my purse to excavate my phone from the depths. Why the hell did I have such a huge purse? Everything got lost in its bottomless depths. My fingers began to shake and just as I found the phone, it tumbled from my grasp. I bit back a curse. The tremors spread throughout my body. Suck it up, girl. I hauled in a fortifying breath and yanked out the phone, moving a finger to press the 9 button.
"Och!"
I froze. That agonized cry had come from Lachlan. Had the intruder hurt him? The phone tumbled to the ground as I flung my hand up to cover my mouth. No, no, not Lachlan.
Scuffling erupted inside the house. A guttural yell cracked the air.
I cursed under my breath. I would not stand here like a stupid damsel in distress while the man I loved battled who knew what. I charged through the front door. My purse slid off my shoulder to splat on the concrete stoop. Nothing could've stopped me in that moment. Lachlan shouted again, followed by more thumps and grunts. I raced down the entryway, veering toward the living room, where the sounds had originated. Visions of Lachlan bloody and crumpled on the floor exploded in my mind, but I shoved aside the panic. Shouts meant he was alive. Noises of a struggle meant he could still move. I burst through the doorway into the living room and stumbled to a stop.
>
Lachlan had Presley in a choke hold. Presley thrashed but couldn't break free. Lachlan fisted his hand in Presley's hair, keeping his free arm collared around the other man's neck. With a growl, Lachlan yanked Presley's head back and glared into his bulging eyes. "What the hell are ye doing in mah woman's house?"
His woman. My hand flew to my chest, over my heart. Had he really called me his woman? Sure, that's what I needed to focus on right now, not the fact my current lover was choking my former lover.
"Tell me!" Lachlan roared, ringing my eardrums. Presley gagged.
I pointed at Lachlan's arm around Presley's neck. "I don't think he can speak."
Lachlan's eyebrows drew together, then realization relaxed his features. He released the choke hold, but in the same instant, he used his hands to cuff Presley's behind his back. Pinned to Lachlan's taller, brawnier body, Presley spat blood. The skin along his jaw and around his left eye had begun to purple. Ohhh, Lachlan got in a good shot. A similar bruise was darkening Lachlan's jaw.
Presley glowered at me, probably because he couldn't turn around enough to aim his hatred at Lachlan. "Scotch Tape attacked me for no reason. Your pit bull's out of control, babe."
I anchored my hands on my hips, despite the faint trembling in my limbs. "Answer Lachlan's question or I'll cut the leash and let my pit bull tear your throat out."
Lachlan's lips hitched up at the corners. His gaze leveled on me and an altogether different shiver raced through me. He yanked Presley's hands, making the twerp bellow. "Once more, ye filthy bawbag. What are ye doing in mah woman's house?"
A warm exhilaration chased out the last of my shakes. Every time he called me his woman, I forgot what was happening around me.
"Door was open when I got here," Presley said. He struggled against Lachlan's hold, then sagged his shoulders, brows pulled down by his deep scowl. "I came in to check on Erica."
